lawyer’s letter with the bank—did you get it?’
Amber thought about the screwed-up piece of paper currently reposing with several sticks of chewing gum and various lipsticks at the bottom of her handbag. ‘Yes, I got it.’
‘Then I suggest you follow his advice and speak to Conall Devlin. All his contact details are there. Conall is the man who’ll be able to help you in your father’s absence. He’s—’
With a howl of rage, Amber cut the connection and slung her phone back into her bag, before starting to walk—not knowing nor caring which direction she was taking. She didn’t want Conall Devlin to help her! What was it with him that suddenly his name was on everyone’s lips as if he were some kind of god? And what was it with her that she was behaving like some kind of helpless victim, just because a few obstacles had been put in her way?
Worse things than this had happened to her, she reminded herself. She’d survived a nightmare childhood, hadn’t she? And even when she’d got through that, the problems hadn’t stopped coming. She wiped a trickle of sweat away from her forehead. But those kinds of thoughts wouldn’t help her now. She needed to think clearly. She needed to go back to the apartment to work out some kind of coping strategy until she could get hold of her father. And she would get hold of him. Somehow she would track him down—even if she had to hitchhike to the wretched ashram in order to do so. She would appeal to his better judgement and the sense of guilt which had never quite left him for kicking her and her mother out onto the street. Surely he wasn’t planning to do that for a second time? And surely he hadn’t really frozen her funds? But in the meantime...
She caught the Tube and got out near her apartment, stopping off at the nearest shop to buy some provisions since her rumbling stomach was reminding her that she’d had nothing to eat that morning. But after putting a whole stack of shopping and a pack of cigarettes through the till, she had the humiliation of seeing the machine decline her card. There was an audible sigh of irritation from the man in the queue behind her and she saw one woman nudging her friend as they moved closer as if anticipating some sort of scene.
‘There must be some kind of mistake,’ Amber mumbled, her face growing scarlet. ‘I shop in here all the time—you must remember me? I can bring the money along later.’
But as the embarrassed shop assistant shook her head, she told Amber that it was company policy never to accept credit. And as she rang the bell underneath her till deep down Amber knew there had been no mistake. Her father really had done it. He’d frozen her funds just as the bank manager had told her.
She thought about her refrigerator at home and its meagre contents. There was plenty of champagne but little else—a tub of Greek yoghurt, which was probably growing a forest of mould by now, a bag of oranges and those soggy chocolate biscuits which were past their sell-by date. Her cheeks growing even hotter, Amber scrabbled around in her purse for some spare change and found nothing but a solitary, crumpled note.
‘I’ll just take the cigarettes,’ she croaked, handing over the note but not quite daring to meet the eyes of the assistant as she scuttled from the shop.
The trouble was that these days everyone glared at you if you dared smoke a cigarette and Amber was forced to wait until she reached home before she could light up. Whatever happened to personal freedom? she wondered as she slammed the front door behind her and fumbled around for her lighter with shaking hands. She thought about the way Conall Devlin had snatched the cigarette from her lips yesterday and a feeling of fury washed over her.
On a whim, she tapped out a text to her half-brother, Rafe, as she tried to remember what time it was in Australia.
What do you know about a man called Conall Devlin?
Considering they hadn’t been in contact for well over a year, Amber was surprised and pleased when Rafe’s reply came winging back almost immediately.
Best mate at school. Why?
So that was why the name had rung a distant bell and why Conall’s midnight-blue eyes had bored into her when he’d said it. Rafe was eleven years older than her and had left home by the time she’d moved back into their father’s house as a mixed-up fourteen-year-old. But—come to think of it—hadn’t her father mentioned some Irish whizz-kid on the payroll who’d dragged himself up from the gutter? Was Conall Devlin the one he’d been talking about?
She wanted to ask him more, but Rafe was probably lying on some golden beach somewhere, sipping champagne and surrounded by gorgeous women. Did she inform him she was soon to be homeless and that the Irishman had threatened to have the locks changed? Would he even believe her version of the story if he and Conall Devlin had been best mates?
There was a ping as another text arrived.
And why are you texting me at midnight?
Amber bit her lip. Was there really any point in grumbling to a man who was thousands of miles away? What was she expecting him to do—transfer money to her account? Because something told her he wouldn’t do it, despite the fortune Rafe had built up for himself on the other side of the world. Her half-brother had been one of the people who were always nagging her to get a proper job. Wasn’t that one of the reasons why she’d allowed herself to lose touch with him—because he told her things she preferred not hear?
Her fingers wavered over the touchpad.
Just wanted to say hi.
Hi to you, too! Nice to hear from you. Let’s talk soon. X
Amber’s eyes inexplicably began to fill with tears as she tapped out her reply: Okay. X.
It was the only good thing which had happened to her all day but the momentary glow of contentment it gave her didn’t last long. Amber sat on the floor disconsolately finishing her cigarette and then began to shiver. How could her father have gone away to India and left her in this predicament?
She thought about what everyone was saying and the different alternatives which lay open to her, realising there weren’t actually that many. She could throw herself on people’s mercy and ask to sleep on their sofas, but for how long? And she couldn’t even do that without enough money to offer towards household expenses. Everyone would start to look at her in a funny way if she didn’t contribute to food and stuff. And if she couldn’t buy her very expensive round in the nightclubs they tended to frequent, then everyone would start to gossip—because in the kind of circles she mixed in, being broke was social death.
She stared down at the diamond watch glittering at her wrist, an eighteenth-birthday present intended to console her during a particularly low point in her life. It hadn’t, of course. It had been one of many lessons she’d learnt along the way. It didn’t matter how many jewels you wore, their cold beauty was powerless to fill the empty holes which punctured your soul...
She thought about going to a pawnbroker and wondered if such places still existed, but something told her she would get a desultory price for the watch. Because people who tried to raise money against jewellery were vulnerable and she knew better than anyone that the vulnerable were there to be taken advantage of.
The sweat of earlier had dried on her skin and her teeth began to chatter loudly. Amber remembered her father’s letter and the words of Mary-Ellen, his assistant. Speak to Conall Devlin. And even though every instinct she possessed was warning her to steer clear of the trumped-up Irishman, she suspected she had no choice but to turn to him.
She stared down at her creased clothes.
She
